Dark Heaven
by lickthese
Summary: Tony Zucco was responsible for the death Dick Grayson's family. Black Manta abandoned his son Kaldur'ahm. Luthor robbed Roy Harper part of his life and was in charge with the cloning of Superboy. The White Martians were prejudiced against on Mars and Lawrence Crock abused both Artemis and Jade. So why are members of the Team trying to kill those that helped create them?
1. Chapter 1

**GOTHAM CITY**  
><strong><span>OCTOBER 10, 2018 19:56 EST<span>**

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><p>The metal door in the background clangs shut, following the sound of keys jingling inside the lock. Footsteps of the only free people in the high-ceiling chamber echo, growing fainter as they move toward the exit of the cold room. Another door slams and the only sounds are the quiet voices of private conversations and the rustle of paper from those who choose to read in their cells. Florescent lights hum and buzz overhead; one blinks every so often as if it is about to go out. Another prisoner, another day closer to repaying their debt to society by dwelling in the prison.<p>

The traditional orange ragged jumpsuit, the commonly shared dressing a prisoner uniforms when confined behind bars after committing a crime.

**Blackgate Penitentiary**; the infamous correctional facility in Gotham City holding the most notorious henchmen, mobsters, and mafia bosses incarcerated when captured. Unlike that of Arkham Asylum, members that have been diagnosed as mentally ill and declared as patients aren't settled in this facility. The clinically sane criminals spend their lives as everyday being the same with limited yard time, the taste of atrocious meals, foul odor lingering in all directions, and the overall sense of loss quickly experienced when locked up.

The prison cells are one in the same without being shared, one six by eight feet in size with steel walls with one extensive barred door trapping each individual inside with nothing but their own misery, thoughts, and dark cognizance. One steel bedstead holding a two inch thick green mattress much like a gymnasium mat and a one piece sink and toilet constructed of welded putatively stainless steel companies them.

Then there's Antonio 'Tony' Zucco, a former Mafia boss and the man who once tried extorting Haley's Circus many years ago. He continues to spend his private time reading his trivial brown novel settled in his palms with the titled blocked by his fingers, his back leaning comfortably as he can make it against the corner of the hardened wall beside the corner edge of his still bed. His lean face and high cheekbones stay in proportion with no history of violence taken place since being admitted to this station, hair slicked back with a few gray strands noticeable up close with a small gap present between his incisors. He continues gnawing on a toothpick he snagged earlier from the dining hall when everyone's evening meal was in session, keeping the other part of his mind occupied on rolling the pick with his tongue along his sealed lips.

Wrinkles under his eyes following his cheeks visibly express how he's mentally and physically drained inside even with the regular routine he's been prolonged to. It's better than serving a death sentence. _Anything is better than death. _But there were times he'd have second thoughts on what he'd rather go through if it were his decision. When registered it didn't take long for him to equally compare his permanent home to hell when coming to realization he'd never have the possibility of parole. It was bold of him to have a pessimistic thought, but it didn't matter at the time. He seems almost at simulated peace with silence surrounding him, fully ignoring the low level blares, complaints, and other expletives mumblings from other cells down the hall in his sector. The constant flickering of the light bulb above him doesn't bother his reading either. He calmly blinks each time the bulb hums for four seconds, coming to a pause, and then repeating over again. Lights are to be out any minute by the warden and he looks forward to nothing better than moving on to the forthcoming day.

In silence like a snake, nothing hints Zucco of the tall muscle-toned guard casually standing soundless on the other side, his eyes pasted on Zucco beneath his shuttered black shades. Zucco leans forward and allows his novel to slip to the side of his lap, mulling the guard's badge in attempt on recognizing him; the name displaying **Peterson,** but one who's unfamiliar. He's seen guards come and go throughout his time spent here and it's clear he's someone new. The guard continues to stare down Zucco as he sluggishly brings himself to the slight numbing of his feet and Zucco can't help but stare at the gray wheeled trey displaying a plate of steaming food resting on the top the walking sentry keeps in his expanse.

Typically in an officers original uniform; a dark navy blue long sleeve collar top with his rank and patches placed in the correct location, black trousers, and the officer's cap exists, but he takes note of him being currently unarmed with a pistol. There's no holster, baton, pepper spray, or some other secondary use of force arranged around his empty utility belt. With an additional thought to this indifference, the guard's grooming is unusual as the other officers maintain their hair at a certain length. His bimestrial black hair on the other hand passes his hair and exceeds the regulations. There can be many reasons why he looks partially different from the others he's perceived, but Zucco doesn't waste much time studying him any longer, rather eying the trey of food teasing his stomach and moist watering mouth.

"T-bone steak, spaghetti and meatballs, mashed potatoes with gravy, mixed vegetables..." The guard's tone catches him off guard, sounding slightly recognizable.

Most of his attention is directed towards his favorite meal he hasn't consumed since being condemned to this hellhole. Peterson reaches for his right pocket and leisurely displays Zucco's assigned cell key, unlocking the barred door and sliding it to the side as he positions himself in front of the wide space in case Zucco foolishly decides to make a run to escape. The prisoner keeps himself easy, morally questioning why the guard's technically giving him special treatment in contempt of their unfamiliarity to one another. Peterson rolls the tray furthermore inside his cell enough for Zucco to reach at arms length.

For the first few seconds he's hesitant, determining whether or not to accept this unexpected meal. His sights repeatedly switch on Peterson and the fresh meal waiting to be vacuumed on short multiple occasions in the silence looming around them. He finally musters up with his thick Italian accent. "What's the catch?"

"There is no catch." The moment Zucco takes another glimpse with the crisp scent reaching his nostrils, Peterson keeps his deadpan expression visible with small skin-lining wrinkles forming above and between his eyebrows while his tenacious frown grows heavier. "Eat up."

There's no need to repeat the command. Zucco gladly removes his tan glass plate from the trey stand and settles it on his lap when positioning himself to his bed. The heat seeping through the glass causes a strong sting that's felt through the thread of his uniform, but the taste of the spaghetti once entering his mouth is more than enough to focus his attention to anything else. Peterson patiently watches Zucco enjoy his meal as he slurps another noodle between his lips. Thick red spaghetti sauce flicks on his cheeks and he grabs the spare sharp knife from the nearby table to begin cutting his seasoned boiled steak to a nimble transition. He swallows each mouthful like he hadn't eaten in decades while apparently enduring and forcing himself to shoving plastic-felt, contaminated unhealthy foods in his stomach as the years slowly passed.

After placing another piece of sliced steak in his mouth after having it dangle from his plastic fork, he licks his right thumb partially covered with seasoned juices dripping above his mashed potatoes. "Tastes like a professional meal." He points to Peterson with his sauced fork. "You...you cook this yourself?"

"Do I look like a cook?" Peterson replies rudely, mugging Zucco and unknowingly clinching a left fist behind his back.

Zucco shrugs his shoulders at the ignorance of Peterson's response and adds another fork full of mashed potatoes in his mouth, the two of them listening to his lips smacking together and making more room in his oral cavity after shoving his food to one side of his cheek. "You're probably a fresh recruit for all I care." He accidentally skewers small pieces of meatballs out his mouth from the tip of his tongue.

Peterson takes a low deep breath with patience. "I've seen few guys around here for a while now. Some caught by authorities..." He pauses when taking a look down the hall after listening to another slammer close. "...and those selling others out. It's easy to tell the difference between the criminals caught by the Batman and who weren't."

The enjoyment of Zucco's meal ceases. When mentioning Batman his eyes almost pop out of their sockets and causes him to remove his plate from his lap. He dusts off the remaining crumbs on his lap in disturbance, eying Peterson profoundly as if they're somehow tied together. "You think you're so smart, no? Tell me...what-what separates people like me from the other guys?"

Peterson takes no intimidation to Zucco's approach, standing his ground as Zucco confidently displays himself. He continues with his tone relaxed. "Your demeanor, the way you carry yourself. Some of the guys around here primarily have schizophrenia, drug and alcohol disorders, other criminal charges and personal conflicts. Most of them have to deal with their personal issues, having to seek the light at the end of the tunnel and hope parole strikes or counting until the days until they're released, but you're different. I haven't seen you shed a tear once since you've been in."

Zucco licks the right corner of his mouth without the thought and in suspicion. "How long you been watching me kid?"

The officer continues, clearly over passing Zucco's question. "You don't regret the choices you've made. I've seen you read your book, ignoring everything around you and acting like nothing's happening. You present yourself like you're too good to be in prison...like you have something else to live for."

Zucco feels no fearfulness or aggression to Peterson's speech, taking another swift whip of the mashed potatoes with his fork and shoving it in his mouth before making it his turn to speak. He takes a glimpse at his small book before taking it in his hands, allowing the front cover to exhibit the title written in bronze ink entitled _WWII_. A low chuckle mutters after his swallow. "This book I'm reading is about World War II. You know, the beginning stages, the center of battles, so on and so forth. I know you've probably learned some of this in school, no?" He doesn't allow Peterson to answer his rhetorical question. "Now let me tell you something kid...in April around 1945, our own people from the...the Thunderbird Army Infantry Division were ordered to take the Barvian concentration camp at Dachau. When they got there they discovered 39 rail cars filled with the corpses of 2,310 camp inmates lying stationary on the tracks just within the camps fenced walls. In this book they called it the 'death train'."

"What does this have to-...?"

Zucco raises his hand to pause Peterson. "Ya see, this act was visioned one of the worst atrocities committed by American infantry troops in World War II. So in an act of revenge for their crimes against the civilians found dead and dying in the camps, our own American liberators of Dachau executed unarmed SS officers who came to the camp to surrender. We lined up 75...**75 **German soldiers against the wall inside the camp and mowed them down with a machine gun."

Zucco summarizes his short story, pacing himself closer to Peterson until the very thing keeping them several inches apart is the tray between them. "Just because I'm in here doesn't mean my revenge won't be felt. The Batman and that...that dopey kid he be running around with, they're both going to feel it. See, I'm a believer in karma and the vengeance that it serves up to those who are deliberate enough to offend. It's enough to me. The only difference is I make the karma happen. It'll never come naturally. Just cause you're here and you got a badge and some rank doesn't make you anymore than what you think you are. You're just a guard providing security, not fighting the fight outside these walls." He taps his chest with an open palm twice. "I was caught by the Batman, but don't you think that's going to finish me." Zucco breaks and snorts a small laugh under his breath. "You come here in judgment, giving me a meal like it's going to be my last. This isn't the death penalty kid. I was sentenced to life in prison by a real judge and a...a jury. So if you want to go judge someone in another cell go right ahead, but don't waste your time bothering me with some nonsense."

The irritated detainee irately stabs one more piece of the chopped steak through his fork and takes the last bite of the half of his unfinished meal. It isn't enjoyable like the first as he smacks his lips when visibly conveying his dislike of the bland taste in his mouth. "And now I have a sudden loss of appetite." He sturdily chews the dry meat sticking to the roof of his mouth. "Thanks for the meal."

Peterson watches Zucco turn his back, cupping his novel back in his hand and taking his seat on the edge of the bed facing him. Peterson calmly folds his hands across his chest, nodding with some agreement to what said earlier. "We have the same views to a degree. Vengeance...karma. And you're right about one thing Tony. I'm also a believer in both."

"Eh...how do you know my name?"

Peterson's hands change into fists without a thought to act. "But this is where you're wrong. This is your last meal."

Peterson violently swipes the tray aside with his right arm, springing for Zucco across the small space in the room. The two clash on the bed with Peterson on top of Zucco and using his knee to apply pressure into his stomach as the intense sounds of silverware and food clanging to the ground echos from their cell. Peterson works his left hand on completely concealing Zucco's mouth from allowing him to shout for wanting help and the other grasping the collar of his jumpsuit all while Zucco attempts on tightly griping Peterson's cold wrists to pull him back.

"You're going to wish I performed that last stunt with my family twelve years ago." He grunts as Zucco confusingly watches the evil in his eyes. "Now I have something to tell you."

Peterson removes himself from the bed first with his hands remaining in contact with Zucco, then forcing him upward and heatedly shoving his adversary against the wall. He follows and pins Zucco's neck against the partition with a bitter left hand, slowly removing his shades from his face with the other and revealing his dark blue eyes that were almost invisible. The craze and determined look in his eyes terrifies Zucco as his grip became tighter, but the familiarity becomes more present, mumbling and sputtering words underneath Dick's hand that aren't clear.

"They say grief occurs in five stages..." Zucco fights intensively with Dick adding his other ice felt hand around his neck. He digs his nails into his skin, but his grip is unyielding. "First there's denial followed by anger..." His lungs begin to burn with the lack of oxygen cycling through him, his hands switching from his forearm to his wrists repeatedly. Dick feels Zucco's pulse drumming like a frightened rabbit as he chokes and sputters. "Then comes the bargaining and depression..." He stares deeply into Zucco's vain eyes as he continues to struggle fighting back, kicking his feet against the dirt tiled wall continuously as he fights for the oxygen he's deprived of. "For most in the final stage of grief is acceptance. But for me grief is a life sentence without clemency." Dick slightly lifts his opposition off the ground, clench tightening around his neck to where finger imprints are seen on his flush red skin. Zucco limp lungs burning painfully with blotches of black caving in his vision. "I'll never accept and will never forgive, not even after the man that killed my family lies dead at my feet."

Zucco's enlarged eyes widen thoroughly with gobs of spit gathering on the corners of his mouth. Sweat boils down his forehead as he succumbs to the death grip coming from Dick. His fight weakens, his kick tapping the wall every other second and his grasp around Dick's wrists weakening as each second slips by them. His eyes rattle above and past Dick as darkness consumes him, pulling him down as he gallops his final kicks, the lack of air deepening his chest, his eyes slowly flutter like a butterfly, and then...going limp.

_The voice of his mother crying his name rushes in Dick's head as he had lastly watched his mother fall to her death_

Once he felt his heartbeat sputter to a halt and after Dick continues staring at Zucco's lifeless body while keeping the same pressured grip around his neck, he tosses Zucco aside and draws a deep breath to furthermore calm himself.

"Your debt has been paid."


	2. Chapter 2

**WESTERN MONGOLIA  
><strong>**OCTOBER 10, 22:10 EST**

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><p>What is now the secondary headquarters of the Light located in the snowy mountains secluded west of the country. Though they remain weakened on the outside since their defeat three years ago with the Reach and because of their relocation to a newer undisclosed facility as the central of their headquarters, the continuation on their usage of this base is extensively valued. The deck has been often used for storage, secret projects, failed ventures, minor future assignments in accordance with other strategies, and a quick rendezvous point.<p>

The screen that was once obscured by bright lights had immediately been torn down since their failure against the Team and League in the past, with rocks encasing around them revealing in sight. Floor tiles have been removed from the ground like a remodeled home without the establishment. Several muddled empty business desks and broken torn chairs rest unorganized around the rock-strewn floor with rustled paperwork and irrelevant debris laying in tight corners around waste of the expanse. Queen Bee intermissions with impatience in the center of the dark disconsolate room with her hands situated on her hips, watching several of Black Manta's henchmen transporting much of the leftover classified information and projects that were stored there for the time being after the invasion, including their first failed attempt to clone Superman, Match. As they maneuver his containment pod to the exit on the other side of the hallway leading to the sub, one of the masked henchmen approaches her gradually from her backside.

"Everything that is annotated on the list has been loaded up. We're ready for departure on your command." His low toned voice echoes throughout the hollow cave.

The dictator scans the capacity of the cave for any evidence or intelligence for any sign of their presence being made here consistently over the years. Trust has been an issue with the Light since the events that ruined their plans some time ago and even then she questions his confirmation with uncertainty. Whoever is careless with the truth in small matters cannot be trusted with important situations. Sometimes it's best to confirm things yourself despite what others say. With that said nothing majorly significant stands out in her visual and the rest will purposely be left behind and used as reserves if need be. She waves her hand at him in dismissal and he leaves accordingly towards the other end, listening to his footsteps clamping against the rocky floor with each stride.

Queen Bee rather continues skimming her zone before completely abandoning the headquarters. She turns her body in a full three-sixty degree for the same path the henchman took, her eyes scattering the ground foremost while stepping along the small rocks naturally positioned in her route. With pebbles kicked around, bumping into another and maneuvering from slow paces of her feet when closing in on the space between herself and the exit, the last tread she makes sounds a crunch against the gravelly surface.

With curiosity in the lust of the mind she pauses and proceeds in accordance with lifting her foot to unveil the object her foot compressed. A small black USB drive is exposed with a crack to the rear. She bends over to lift the object from the floor and brings it to eye distance, noticing an 'X' that was horribly carved with another object. With all the data the Light posses it isn't known if there's any crucial content stored within, but knowing this is missing and almost left behind does enough to stream her to a boiling point.

Queen Bee secures the drive in annoyance with a brawny fist and continues her onward path towards the hall, but several numbers of pebbles descending and cascading against the craters in the walls unexpectedly yet catches her undivided attention again. They stumble in front of her, rolling to her feet. There's no doubt it was enough force by something or someone to purposely act this out causing her to become more weary. The fascist aspects the much darkened ceiling with her view limited from the lack of lighting rendering from the hallway. She keeps herself calm and blithe, not allowing any unforeseen presence or danger threaten her.

"Hiding up there won't do you much good." She announces with a bitter tone, keeping it to herself to stay put instead of leaving the join Black Manta and the rest of his men. "I know you're there." She waits for a response, but nothing sounds in the hollowness but a few water drops unknown from above splashing to it's parallel puddle. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid." A feminine saintly voice speaks from elsewhere in the cave.

Queen Bee steadily twists her body the opposite direction which she faced, spotting a womanlike illustration looming within the shadows of the darkness several yards ahead of her. Their likelihood of intimidation has no affect on her, but rather causing more of botheration instead of fear. "Then why won't you come out?"

"Cause you'll be afraid." She responds.

Queen Bee scowls at the figure as the skin above her brows delineates. A young woman with flawless olive toned skin makes her steady presence with her long thick blonde hair notably tied in a single braid twirled over her left shoulder and stopping to the middle of her abdomen. She bears a midriff costume consisting all black and stylized darkened red arrow tip on the front. She's supported with a black mask extending from her hairline to her cheekbones, black fingerless gloves with aphotic red pads on the knuckles, black pants with ash gray knee pads, and black combat boots with blood red shoe laces. She harnesses an ash gray utility belt around her waist with a matching pouch strapped to her left leg. A black quiver is connected to her backside holding a numerous amount of black arrows and a black bow linked to the side. Queen Bee spots permanent ink detailed on her right wrist penned in a different language she can't interpret, but familiarizes herself with this individual once making contact her with her dark gray eyes.

"Oh, I recognize you." She chuckles underneath her breath, making sense in the change of uniform after their last encounter. "As if it couldn't be clear. You're the girl that partnered with Kaldur'ahm to ruin our plans some years ago."

Artemis' eyebrow raises as if she doesn't know who Queen Bee was talking about. "You must have me confused with some other girl."

Her small laughter dissipates after her smile vanishes, thinking this was some 'guess who' game Artemis is trying to play. "Right...and should I be expecting the rest of your team to pop out here in a few?"

"No." Artemis delivers a vile grin to her opposer. "It's just you and me tonight."

"If anything you're outnumbered." She crosses her hands confidently across her chest. "I have one hundred men down this hallway that would love nothing better than taking one member of your little Team out. I'll do you the favor on giving you five seconds to leave before they break you."

"Last time I counted it was sixty one." Artemis watches Queen Bee's certainty decrement and her arms release to her sides. The bowman reaches into left her pouch and unsheathes a bloodied dagger dripping the very same bodily fluid it's covered from the blade to the rocky plain, then carelessly tossing her weapon to the ground towards Queen Bee to convey her personal assurance. Artemis tilts her head slightly to the right, bringing another uncomfortable grimace to her adversary. "You're the dictator of Bialya, right?

"Why do you ask?" Queen Bee keeps her eyes on the recently used dagger.

Artemis sarcastically shrugs her shoulders, then takes two steps closer in submission. "Your claim to the throne holds only propaganda. It's not legitimate. Not enough anyway."

"Bialya is a constitutional monarchy-"

"Wrong." Artemis rudely interrupts her. "It's a militaristic dictatorship ruled by you with an iron fist."

"You wouldn't know anything about being a leader."

"But I know a power-hungry unscrupulous and manipulate tyrant when I see one. The difference between you and me is I don't believe in world leaders, especially ones that uses it's territory and military with their own personal gains."

Queen Bee mutters another diminutive chuckle. "So what now? You're going turn me in and give up my rule of the country? You do that and Bialya will strike back at you, forging militaristic hostility against your campaign and will cause another war. Do you really want that on your hands?"

"That's possible, but unfortunately you won't be alive to see the big picture." Artemis takes a few steps closer to retrieve the bloodstained dagger she tossed earlier, settling it back into her pouch as she closes the gap between herself and Queen Bee. "Your country, like all others, needs to be free of world leaders, governments, systems of rules, and the sense that they're giving you the freedom you deserve. There's no need to have military cause everything will eventually end in fighting and bloodshed. Truth is, nobody can give you freedom. Nobody can give you equality or justice or anything. If you're a man, you take it."

Queen Bee holds her position as Artemis begins circling her body counter-clockwise, like a predator against its prey. "You can eat freedom, but you can't power machinery without democracy, and neither can political prisoners turn off the light in the cells of dictatorship."

"This world isn't free. The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become absolutely free so your existence is an uprising. The freedom to move forward to new opportunities and to make results comes from living in the past and present. We've learned and we have the capability to advance." After making one full circle, Artemis directly aligns herself inches behind Queen Bee while she corners her eyes to her shoulders without turning her body around. "It's not everyday where someone will step down from leadership willingly. I understand that. A leader always wants their divine right to rule."

Despite their opposite views, Queen Bee chortles underneath her breath due to her disbelief of Artemis turning rogue. The Justice League and anyone associated with them always believed in bringing people to justice without involving murder or purposely causing injury. She figures this is a bluff and doing so she intends to play along. "So you're going to overthrow me."

"Somebody has to do it." Artemis softly whispers in her ear, another sly grin in the mere silence.

In a swift movement with her limb, Artemis' right arm finds itself wrapped snugly around Queen Bee's neck. Within her grip, her body squirms, Bee's fingers scratching at Artemis' arms trying to peel her off in the struggle. Artemis takes a knee, lowering both of their bodies to Queen Bee's disadvantage.

"What I do know is for the good of all." The blonde says without endeavor in her strength.

Queen Bee tries throwing her weight away from her, but all she succeeds in doing is causing more energy to leave her body. Her face begins glowering with red and purple, eyes bulging. She tugs to her sides. Artemis listens to a small crack as if she were cracking her own knuckles. Still, Queen Bee is moving, a sudden burst of vigor as she realizes what Artemis is attempting to do. She feels her feebly elbow her in the side, but at this point, she's too weak to escape. Artemis strengthens her grip, tensing her arm, and jerking again. Nothing. Queen Bee wheezes out, cursing in raspy whispers, her fleeting last hopes as weak as the gasps she could squeeze out of her windpipe. Her body begins to relax, the muscles in her neck had more than likely filled with lactic acid. They wouldn't protect her anymore.

Finally, and with one last twist, she hears another snap. Faint, a small bleat of protest as Queen Bee's body finally falls limp. Artemis eases her to the floor, her eyes staring back up at her in shock and awe. Her mouth flaps like a gasping fish, no sound or air escapes. Artemis looks down at her. Soon her brain would be too starved of oxygen from her inability to move her diaphragm. Eyes glossing over, Queen Bee's eyelids slowly close, too tired to keep the ghost. Artemis kneels down after a minute of savoring the moment. Her arms slightly ache, her flesh bleeds from her fingernails, but the endorphins racing through her bloodstream screams with ecstasy. She plants two fingers against her neck. _No pulse._ She places her head against her chest. Only a quivering beat, she was most likely in ventricular fibrillation. The woman is as good as dead.


End file.
